Only Hoping As Time Goes You Can Forget
by keldjinfae
Summary: Sam seeks closure for himself and his brother. Dean/Sam, M, incest, SM


**Author's note: **I originally had this posted on livejournal, but I recently came into the ff.n fold and decided to bring gifts.

**Disclaimer: **_Supernatural_ is owned by Kripke, the CW, and others who aren't I; all of my fanfiction is written for fun, not profit.

**Warnings:** This story contains incest of a brotherly nature, as well as S&M. Or rather, lots of spanking.

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**Only Hoping As Time Goes You Can Forget**, by keldjinfae

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"You want me to what?"

Dean's eyes snapped up to study his brother's face for some trace of amusement, certain that he'd heard him wrong.

Sam swallowed nervously and looked over at the cheap motel wallpaper, building up the nerve to repeat his request, then made eye contact with his brother, breathing in deeply before saying slowly, "I want you to spank me."

Dean couldn't help but flinch at the painful sincerity in Sam's tone. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid you said," he said uncomfortably. He took a step back, putting space between himself and his brother. "Come on, Sam, what the hell do you think you're doing, asking me something like that?" he asked, his hands balling into fists to keep them from trembling. "Seriously, man."

"I_ am_ being serious,' Sam insisted. "I need this. _We_ need this." His voice dropped desperately as every inch of him begged the other man to give in.

"I need to hit my brother?" Dean scoffed, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "Give me a break." He made to get out of the room, but Sam hastily cut off his retreat.

"No, you… you need to punish me. _I _need you to punish me." He drew in a shaky breath. "It's… it's for closure, okay? So we can move on."

Unable to escape his brother's intense, pleading gaze, Dean began to pace the already well-worn carpet. "Move on from what? We're fine, Sam. I'm okay, you're okay. We're all just peachy."

"No, we're not," Sam insisted, shaking his head fractionally. "There's guilt hanging around us everywhere we go." He began to move slowly toward his brother. "The tension's getting to both of us—" He held out his hands for silence when Dean opened his mouth to protest. "It _is_, Dean. You know it is. We haven't been the same." He stopped moving and waved his arms searchingly. "I… I just want to be us again, and I think this is the only way."

Dean's lips moved as he tried to find an argument—any argument—to get Sam to back down. He shifted his weight from side to side, wanting to sprint out into the cool night air and the comfort of his Impala, but his brother's goddamn freak-of-nature shoulders blocked his only exit. "Sammy…"

"Please, Dean. I _need_ you to do this. For both of us."

Dean locked eyes with Sam for what seemed like an eternity, then finally sighed and nodded reluctantly. "Okay," he said, almost whispering. After a moment, he cleared his throat and straightened, putting on a front of self-confidence; Sam needed him to take charge. "Face that wall," he ordered, pointing to the wall behind his brother, hoping that the slight tremor in his hand wasn't noticeable.

Sam remained still, gaze fixed on the floor as he flexed his fingers and breathed shakily. Just when Dean began to think that maybe Sam would call off his crazy idea, Sam nodded and walked over to the wall, stopping maybe two feet away from the peeling, vertical-striped paper.

Dean's eyes widened, realizing that they were actually going to do this, and then he shut them tightly, running a hand over his face in an attempt to wake up. He started slightly when Sam said his name softly, wondering what he was supposed to do next. Dean bit the inside of his cheek hard, testing one last time to make sure he really was awake, then cleared his throat again and said, "Pants down," his voice gruff and deep from nerves.

A shiver ran through the younger Winchester as he unzipped his jeans. Dean watched Sam's jeans drop to the floor much too fast, and then his breath caught in his throat when his little brother's fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers and pull them down until they joined the denim around his ankles. Then he stood completely still, waiting for Dean's next command.

Dean's eyes traveled up the considerable length of Sam's legs, faltering at the sight of his ass, which was partially hidden by his shirt. The sight of his brother standing in front of him half naked brought back memories of warm nights together in motels, curling up in the same bed long after it was considered acceptable to do so. This man was ihis/i Sammy, the brother who had been left behind and forgotten four years ago; the Sammy that Dean had tried to convince himself he didn't need anymore.

He approached Sam slowly, just as afraid to close the distance between them and prove this was real as he was to find out it wasn't. The sound of erratic, sharp breaths reached his ears and he realized that they were coming from him as well as his brother, who was staring directly at the wall, his back straight and shoulders pulled back in anticipation.

And then Dean was only inches away from Sam, and he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. His eyes fixed on the back of the younger man's neck, and then moved downward to Sammy's half-exposed body. A few agonizing seconds crawled by, and then Dean reached out a hand he didn't bother to keep from shaking, clasping the hem of the other Winchester's shirt and drawing it up over his spine, prompting him to lift up his arms by pressing firmly against the hollow between his shoulder blades.

Dean removed the tee shirt completely, holding onto the soft cotton in one hand as if it were a shield. He studied the line of Sam's spine, running down from the nape of his neck to just above his ass, and then he looked down at the rumpled material clutched tightly in his fingers. With a concentrated effort, he released his grip on Sam's shirt and watched it fall to the floor, then forced himself to return his eyes to the sight of his little brother's now completely naked body.

Dean's eyes snapped shut and he breathed in deeply through his nose, trying to get a hold of himself. Silence roared in his ears as what seemed like hours ticked by, and then Dean opened his eyes again, needing to see Sam after all of this time apart; and now Sammy needed him again, standing completely exposed in front of him, trusting in him to do what was best for both of them.

Reaching out, Dean placed his hand lightly on Sammy's shoulder, feeling the hard, warm muscle beneath his calloused palm. Sam's body tensed beneath his touch, and Dean cleared his throat yet again, trying to remember how to speak. "Lean forward," he commanded, pushing lightly against his brother's shoulder. "Put your hands on the wall." He continued to press against Sammy until he was bent over almost double in front of him, his arms stretched out over his head, palms flat against the plaster.

The older Winchester briefly massaged his brother's shoulder, then let his fingers trail downward, halting just above the swell of Sammy's ass for a moment before splaying across a firm cheek, feeling a tremor rush through the younger man at the contact of Dean's rough hand against his smooth skin. "Sammy…" he whispered, barely audible as emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

"Please, Dean," Sam begged, just as quiet. "I want this." He arched his back, pushing back against his brother's outstretched hand.

Dean bent over and braced himself with one hand against the wall as he kept his other hand in place on Sammy's ass, and brought his clothed body flush against his brother's bare skin. He laced his fingers with one of Sam's hands and nodded slowly, making sure he could feel his head move, then straightened, keeping his hand over Sam's in order to hold him still. "Don't move," he said, squeezing his brother's cheek before removing his hand. He watched the younger man's entire body clench as he braced himself for the first blow.

The first smack was experimental as Dean tested Sam's tolerance as well as his own, and he studied his brother's reaction intently; Sam had flinched instinctively, but hadn't really felt any pain. Instead, he turned his head the tiniest bit to the right, trying to prompt his brother to let go. He hissed in surprise when Dean slapped him harder. "I told you not to move. Face that wall." He smacked Sammy again for emphasis, and the younger man quickly whipped his head back around so his nose was nearly touching the wallpaper.

Dean delivered another sharp smack, and Sam choked on a breath, the sound reminding the older Winchester of times when they'd shared everything; when all they'd had, all they'd needed was each other. And Sammy had gotten out of their bed one morning and decided that wasn't good enough.

His next hit was much harder, and Sam grunted, dragging his nails along the wall. Dean picked up the pace, building a steady, unrelenting rhythm as he remembered nights spent alone or with yet another nameless hot chick while Sam was off at Stanford, rejecting all that Dean had to offer when he said he wanted to try to find out who he was.

Dean could hear Sam whimpering, gasping in pain every time the older Winchester's hand struck. He continued to spank his brother without mercy, feeling his skin grow hot beneath his hand. "This is what you need," he said through gritted teeth, "and I always give you what you need." He laughed bitterly, welcoming the pain in his wrist as he continued to punish Sam. "What about what _I_ needed, Sammy? You were all I ever needed and you _left_."

His next blow was hard enough to make his brother's forehead bang against the wall, and Sammy leaned against the plaster, trying to remain upright against Dean's wrath. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice made thick by tears. "I'm so sorry."

Dean realized what his anger was doing to his brother, and for the first time in his life, he didn't care; Sammy had _told_ him to do this, and he was almost horrified to discover that he _liked_ it. Never before had he truly expressed all the anger he'd pent up inside, and now that he was releasing it, each crack that resounded in the room made it just a little bit easier for him to breathe. He ignored how his hand throbbed, paid no attention to the way Sammy's arms had fallen to his sides, to how he was slumped against the wall and bawling, begging for forgiveness.

He wasn't ready to let his brother go just yet; he needed to break Sammy, bring him down to where he was so he could build them back up again. "Do you feel this?" he asked, rubbing Sammy's swollen cheeks roughly with his hand. When he didn't respond right away, Dean gave him a warning smack. "Do you _feel this_?" he growled.

"Yes," Sam cried out, barely able to speak over the sobs that shook his body.

Dean backed away from Sam for a moment, just long enough to unbuckle his belt and slide it through the belt loops in his jeans, making sure his brother could hear him pulling it out and folding it in his hands. He returned to his place just behind Sammy and slowly, softly dragged the hard leather across his raw, blistering skin. "Do you feel this?" he asked softly, listening to Sam's rapid breathing as the younger man's legs began to tremble. He tuned out the explosive crack of the belt, only hearing Sammy's agonized scream. "Do you feel this?" he asked again, voice still barely audible.

Sam could only choke on his tears. His legs nearly gave out from under him when Dean hit him again, harder this time. And then once again, Dean asked him if he felt it. And once again, when he didn't answer, Dean let the belt fly again, grunting as he threw all of his strength into it.

The younger Winchester let out a shriek that was almost inhuman and collapsed onto the floor in a broken mess. "Yes!" he shouted. "Yes, God, I feel it! It _hurts_, okay?" He twisted so he was curled up on the floor, seeking comfort, but not quite hiding from his brother. "Please…" He looked up at Dean, barely seeing him through the tears that still spilled down his cheeks.

Instead of returning his gaze, Dean looked down pointedly at the belt still in his hand, drawing Sam's attention to the weapon. When he could feel Sam staring at the belt as well, Dean let it fall to the floor, the clank of the buckle seeming to echo throughout the room.

Dean immediately yanked his tee shirt up over his head, tossing it aside before undoing his fly and stripping down until he was just as naked as his brother. He planted one foot on either side of the younger man's body, his already hard cock twitching when Sam's eyes widened.

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**Author's note:** This scene has been deleted due to explicit sexual content (in other words, I'm paranoid about the rating system on this site), but can be viewed at my livejournal account at http: / / keldjinfae-moon. livejournal. com / html. 20478 # cutid1 (but without the spaces).

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He remained completely still, listening to his brother's slowing heartbeat as his chest rose and fell with each gasping breath; listening to his favorite music.

After several minutes, Dean managed to roll onto the floor and he pulled his brother against him, instantly fitting together like they were meant to. "Good boy, Sammy," Dean murmured, stroking the younger Winchester's sweat soaked hair.

Sam nuzzled Dean's neck, almost completely asleep. "Love you, Dean," he mumbled, draping his arm across his brother's stomach. "Don't want to leave you anymore."

Dean kissed the top of Sammy's head sloppily. "Go to sleep, Sam," he said, yawning. A few seconds later, the younger man began to snore softly, fatigue making his limbs heavy. Dean pulled his brother even closer to him, entangling their limbs together as he began to drift off as well. "Love you too, baby," he said, falling into the first peaceful sleep he'd had in years, knowing that he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not Sammy would still be there when he woke up.


End file.
